


Rosalee's Redemption

by ExpectoPadoughnut



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: F/M, Self Harm, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-21 19:59:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1562219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpectoPadoughnut/pseuds/ExpectoPadoughnut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosalee is homeless, addicted and finds company nestled next to a yellow bug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what this is. It seems to be a collection of snippets, I think, that I've merged into short chapters to form a stream of events. It's something to read on the train/bus journey home, I suppose. Just go with me on this one. WARNING: Self Harm Mentioned. May contain triggers.

It felt cold yet familiar in the palm of my hand. I dared not look at it for I knew what would look back. I could picture it vividly though; sharp, glittering in the stream of light that crept in from the crack in the curtains and staring out from it, I knew was my reflection.

My pants were soft and they felt smooth as I pulled them over my protruding hips. I took that moment to finger my offensive hips; there was still a layer of stubborn fat coating them. I welcomed the cold metal against that layer. It stung. It hurted. I would never lie to anyone who asked – cutting yourself _hurt_.

Words hurt more, though. Strangers hurt more. Words couldn't be controlled. But I could control cutting. That realisation was the only thing I had. It looked like a paper cut to begin. Then it lined itself in red.

One trickle, two trickle, three trickles, four. I'm in control now.

*** * * ***

The shelter never had comfortable beds. They were thin, hard and smelled of people. The stench of urine and alcohol hung heavy in the air. Voices echoed around the cold room; old men chanted, heavily intoxicated; middle aged women enticed them with promises of company and teenagers huddled in packs, defending their territory.

And I … I lay in my corner, back to the wall, observing them above the collar of my coat that I had zipped as far as my nose. You don't turn your back in this place. You don't sleep much either. There's a chance you won't wake. Portland was a lonely place.

*** * * ***

There was only one place to go, one place left to run. There was one place I knew would welcome me back with open arms; one arm held the Jay, the other my money. I ran into those arms with all my worth.

*** * * ***

The streets were cold this time of year. Snow had fallen, followed by rain and the only dry patch was nestled between two cars outside a grocery store. I'd move when the owners returned, but one car was still warm from running. This is the most comfortable I've been all week. The yellow bug reminded me of better times; summer, beaches and home. Home? That was laughable.

This is home now.


	2. Chapter 2

The sandwhich was fresh: tomato, lettuce, cheese and onion. I didn't question why the owner hadn't ordered meat. It was tastier than the food the shelter had on offer.

The yellow bug had left when I woke. That bastard could have run me over. No sandwhich would have made up for that. 

*** * * ***

It felt surreal. For the first time that day the itching stopped and the craving died. When I sunk into the beanbag it felt like I kept going, like I was being engulfed forever in a thin layer of comfort. 

The worst part though is that 10 dollars will only buy you so much Jay, and it's not enough to destroy my logic. Beneath that layer of comfort that feels like it will support me forever, there's a nagging and a whining that reminds me rock bottom is just beneath it. 

*** * * ***

I left with some shred of dignity and his wallet. It felt light in my pocket, physically and morally; I'd long left my moral compass behind. 

I'd snuck out while the old coot had washed in the bathroom. I've got one rule when it comes to selling myself – clean men only.

I was quick though, too quick for them. I've never been caught before.

*** * * ***

I draw with silver, it comes out red. It stings like a bitch, but only I decide how much pain I deserve that day. 

He decided last night. He took control. I deserved it. I wasn't quick enough. 

I got caught. 

*** * * ***

The yellow bug was there again. Parked in the same spot and glittering with the same happiness. It wasn't warm this time, but I nestled between it and another car anyway. It was the weirdest form of comfort I had ever found. But it worked. 

I woke too late. This time there was coffee and a doughnut. I didn't like coffee, but I drank it anyway. The doughnut was chocolate. I haven't tasted chocolate in a while.

Before I crushed the coffee cup, I noticed something written on the bottom. 

_The sandwhich bar was closed. Sorry._


	3. Chapter 3

Words vary all the time; depending on whom you speak to that is. _C'mere, show me that move again. Don't pout your lips like that, you'll only make me worse. How much for a ride?_ I wasn't stupid this time. I made sure I was quick this time.

*** * * ***

I liked to smoke in groups, only because I felt hidden in the smoke. I liked to watch them fall around me, it made me feel normal knowing I wasn't the only one this fucked up. At least in a group there were people worse than me. It was a sick reality that I needed ; I needed someone to suffer more than I was. Someone to prove I wasn't all that bad.

*** * * ***

The yellow bug had just arrived. He was tall and I couldn't see his face. He walked with his shoulders slumped, his hands in his pockets and his head bowed; he looked like he didn't want to be seen. I know that feeling. He disappeared inside and somewhere deep within me, I felt like I needed to know this man. I felt like I needed to thank him.

My note was hastily written. I even felt conscious of my chicken scratch writing. Somewhere within, I hoped he wouldn't mind that I had written it on a piece of tissue with a coloured pencil I saw some child drop on her way to school.

_I'm not a big fan of coffee. But the doughnut was amazing. Your yellow bug reminds me of summer and picnics. Thanks._ I felt ridiculous watching him from across the street. I could technically be classed as borderline stalking right now. He didn't dump the note though, he read it and his shoulders shook a little. I still haven't seen his face.

*** * * ***

Today of all days he wore steel capped boots. I couldn't afford the payment. I hadn't done my rounds and trying to snatch that Jay from his hands was the biggest mistake I ever made. How far did I think I could get in a town this small? The blows rained down on me; I struggled to shield myself. The steel hit my ribs, hit my hips, hit my thighs and my knees, and finally stomped down on my ankle.

When he left I waited, curled in a ball behind the dumpster, not caring that a rat scurried near me or that something brown and watery pooled close by. The smell was vile. I did a once over, fingering my body for breaks. When there were none I couldn't hide the disappointment – a break would mean a few hours in A&E at least it was warm there. Even when the pain pulsed through my body as I hobbled back to the shelter, my only concerns were making it up to my dealer. How could I keep him happy?


	4. Chapter 4

The yellow bug wasn't there when I fell asleep, but the spot it parked in was empty and I felt comfort just sitting near it. I was tired; the shelter had been full last night and I'd rather freeze to death than squat on the wrong side of town. A park bench was my only comfort. When I woke the bug was there. It was extra warm this time, like it had just been turned off seconds before I woke.

I leaned into the wall, feeling the heat drift away from the engine and toward me. Bliss. When I woke, it was reversing, and my eyes were too hazy from sleep to see the driver. Though I'm sure he saw me and instinct made me lower my face. What a sight I'm sure I was. Another cup was before me with two doughnuts. I held it up to look underneath and a small smile crossed my lips. _It's tea._ I chuckled, sipping it slowly and hiding the doughnuts in my backpack.

*** * * ***

His lips were dry and thin and cold against my own. His beard was course and scratched my face; I could feel the itching and the burning and no matter how much I begged him to move away, he wouldn't. His body was heavier than mine. It hurt when he turned me over. I could feel him pushing against me and his breath in my face smelled like cheap beer. It was a struggle not to gag. I knew resisting would make it worse. My arm hurt where I knew his finger prints would later be bruised into my skin. I could already feel old cuts opening as he tore my pants down. He took little notice. He was rough, sticky and smelled like a cheap bar. For the first time since hitting the streets, I lost that will to fight back.

*** * * ***

Jay took over. Rock bottom reared its ugly head; cold, jagged and hitting all the sore spots. The rain streamed down, my thin hood had long given up and I couldn't feel the urge to take shelter. Sitting in that parking spot, the yellow bug absent, I tried to summon its presence. I tried to recall the heat from the engine, the smell of gasoline, and the warmth of a styrofoam cup with a tiny message on the bottom from the generous stranger. Who was he? My only comfort as I sunk into a chilled slumber was pretending I could hear the bug approach.


	5. Chapter 5

Bright lights consumed me. A tiny beep irritated my already sore head. Moving my arms hurt and I could feel an annoying prick when I tried to bend my wrist - IV needle. I could hear voices; a woman's voice, she sounded sweet; a male's voice, he sounded young. 

I knew before opening my eyes that I was in a hospital. The overwhelming smell of cleanliness and the comfort alone tipped me off. I manged to open my eyes a crack; the curtains were pulled and a thin beam of sunlight fell across the crisp white sheets. 

“You're awake.”

I looked up. She was a young nurse with a sweet face, but I could read her disapproval as she looked over my body. No one liked wasting taxes on addicts. We're repeat offenders. 

“That man left you a cup. He was pretty adamant it stayed with you when we tried to dump it. He called an ambulance, you know. He practically saved your life.”

Looking over her shoulder, I could see the tall man with his back to me. He shook the doctors hand and headed for the door. He stopped briefly; I hoped for a second that he would look back, just so I could see his face. But he shook his head and slumped his shoulders like he had done the very first time that I had seen him. I wanted to shout after him. I needed to see him, to thank him, to at least know his name.

The tails of his coat disappeared around the door before I could even open my mouth. In a strange way, I felt lonelier than ever before. 

“There's a place in Seattle. It's a program that we'd like to offer you. We've had a lot of success with it. Would you be interested?”

I took the cup; it still held some heat, and lifting it up I read the familiar script: 

_Dead people don't bleed. You are alive._

“I'll take it.” I muttered. For the first time since coming to Portland, I felt like I had a purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sharing this journey with me. /End


End file.
